Yes, in this chancel once we sat alone, <br />O Dorothea! thou wert bright with youth, <br />Freshness like Morning's dwelt upon thy cheek, <br />While here and there above the level pews, <br />Above the housings of the village dames, <br />The musky fan its groves and zephyrs waved. <br />I know not why (since we had each our book <br />And lookt upon it stedfastly) first one <br />Outran the learned labourer from the desk, <br />Then tript the other and limpt far behind, <br />And smiles gave blushes birth, and blushes smiles. <br />Ah me! where are they flown, my lovely friend! <br />Two seasons like that season thou hast lain <br />Cold as the dark-blue stone beneath my feet, <br />While my heart beats as then, but not with joy. <br />O my lost friends! why were ye once so dear? <br />And why were ye not fewer, O ye few? <br />Must winter, spring, and summer, thus return, <br />Commemorating some one torn away, <br />Till half the months at last shall take, with me, <br />Their names from those upon your scatter'd graves! <br /> <br />She I love (alas in vain!) <br />Floats before my slumbering eyes: <br />When she comes she lulls my pain, <br />When she goes what pangs arise! <br />Thou whom love, whom memory flies, <br />Gentle Sleep! prolong thy reign! <br />If even thus she soothe my sighs, <br />Never let me wake again!<br /><br />Walter Savage Landor<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/on-the-dead/
